Tales from the Wild Side
by Ardent Aspen
Summary: In connection to "Prime: Beast Saga", here are a series of one-shots involving scenes that never made it into the main story. Here you'll find backstories, the occasional introspective, and some just plain fun stuff.
1. Chapter 1

**Hi everyone! Aspen here,**

**While those of you who follow "Beast Saga" are waiting for the next chapter, (sorry about the wait) here is a series of one-shots of varying genres, consisting of scenes that never made it into "Prime: Beast Saga". In a way, I suppose it's a little like "Mirrors", except that it all takes place within the story "Beast Saga". **

**Some of them will be serious, some of them may be sad, and some of them will be very, very silly.**

**Because I can.**

**No shame. I'm _that_ sort of a person.**

* * *

Whatever happened to the Jasper Trio?

"This is a lot of homework," Raf peered into Jack's backpack with a concerned look on his round features. "Do you want some help with this later?" The older boy smiled softly and ruffled the young genius's hair. "Nah, I think I'll be okay. Thanks, though." It was an unlikely friendship, a twelve year old computer whiz and a sixteen year old who melted into the crowd at any given opportunity.

The older boy had come across the younger the year before, standing forlornly at a bus stop in the middle of a downpour. His several older siblings had each gone to various after-school activities, forgetting that their little brother had no way to get home. Jack had been on his way home when he saw the little boy, and couldn't bear to leave him there alone. He'd taken off his jacket and held it over the smaller student's head in a vain attempt to keep the rain off him until the bus arrived, not saying a word. He'd been so focused on sheltering the sad underclassman that he hadn't noticed at first when the rain stopped hitting his shoulders. The two boys had looked up to find a thin Asian girl holding a brightly-colored umbrella over them both with a lopsided grin on her face. "Hello, Totoro," she'd said to Jack, and that was the day Rafael Esquivel met his two closest friends.

Now the two boys walked home from school together every day—mostly to ensure that the youngest Esquivel was not forgotten again. Taking two hops to match every one of Jack's longer strides, Raf swung his short arms cheerfully. "After we finish our homework, can I come play with your rabbits again?" his brown eyes sparkled and Jack was hard-pressed to keep a straight face. "I _love _rabbits," the little boy sighed, "But Mama and Papa say I can't have one because it might eat Mama's garden. Which is _totally _ unfair, because they let Beto get a parrot and I know for a _fact_ that the feathered creep is responsible for the missing lettuce." Jack grimaced at the idea of evil, lettuce-snatching parrots and lightly punched his friend's shoulder. "Sorry Raf, not today. We're meeting up with Miko, remember?" The momentary disappointment on Rafael's face melted away at the reminder. "Oh yeah!" he grinned and bounced on his sneakered toes. "The lake!" He darted ahead of the older teen, skipping towards the bus stop. "Come on, Jack! Hurry up!" he laughed.

Miko was waiting for them at the little green bench, paint long since faded and peeled. A pair of oversized purple sunglasses perched on the end of her nose and a large tote bag sat at her feet. "About time you two showed up!" she said in mock complaint, "I wasn't going to tell the driver to wait for you if you showed up after he did, y'know." Jack and Raf blinked, then shot sidelong glances at each other. "Wait a second, Miko, you had detention!" Jack observed, "How in the heck did you get here before us?!" With a cackle, the feisty girl informed him that he was better off not knowing. "Plausible deniability Jackie-boy, plausible deniability. They can't make you tell them what you don't know!" she smirked as the bus finally pulled up. "Next stop: Lake Priscilla!" Miko crowed, dragging the two boys down onto one of the cracked leather seats.

The bus dropped them off a mile from the tiny patch of forest surrounding the peaceful body of water, and the three set out on foot from there. None of them complained about the heat or the long march: it was not uncommon for Jack or Miko to organize impromptu camping trips or hiking excursions, and over the last year they'd each developed a love of the outdoors. Of course, being the youngest and the smallest, Raf tired more easily. Jack knelt silently halfway through the trek and waited until Raf had climbed onto his back, then stood and continued as if nothing had happened. Beside them, Miko was complaining about her elder brother, Shirako. "He's always going _on _and _on_ about his stupid street races, but he _never _lets me come along!" she growled, kicking at some loose stones. "But Miko, I'm just looking out for my baby sister!" she suddenly said in a decidedly unflattering imitation of the sibling in question, before switching back to her own voice. "Yeah? More like looking out for your reputation, because you think I'll tell all your buddies which of your boasts aren't true!"

Jack raised an eyebrow at her. "Well, would you?" he asked, hoisting Raf a little higher on his back. The girl shot him an offended look. "Of _course _I would! I'm his _little sister_! It's my job!" As they neared the lake, Miko sighed and tipped her head back contentedly as a stray breeze ruffled her fluffy pigtails. "Hmm. I wonder if Shirako will find those pictures I asked him for..." she murmured as they set their things down at the shoreline. Then she turned and grinned widely at the boys. "Okay you guys, about face! I'm switching to swimsuit mode!" Raf and Jack glanced at each other. "Uhhh...Miko, you said you were going to wear the suit under your clothes, like us. You're not really changing..." Raf pointed out, but was silenced with an imperious wave. "Up-bup-bup! Do not question the Miko! Obey the Miko!" the girl giggled, "About face!"

The other two teens sighed in feigned annoyance and turned to face the large boulder that served as their diving board. Before Miko could move, however, there was a sudden commotion. A snapping, tearing sound filled the air, as if a giant had shaken out a massive tarp. A blue light, shaped almost like a long crack in mid-air, surrounded the children with a glow that was somehow brighter than the sun itself. "Wha—what's going on?" Jack shouted over the rippling sound. "I don't know!" Miko shouted back. Jack reached back and took hold of her wrist—despite her protests—and wrapped his other arm around Raf's shoulders. "Hang on, guys!" he hollered as the light grew brighter and brighter and the wind roared in their ears and then—

Silence.

The lake was as pristine as it had been before, and there was no sign of the trio.

No tote bag, no backpacks, not even footprints in the sand.

It was as if they'd been wiped from existence.


	2. Chapter 2

**This particular one-shot serves as a little bit of backstory for a character recently introduced in "Prime: Beast Saga" and what he was doing before he joined Team Convoy. (Ha, that's not really what the team is called, as far as I know, but since we call the other one Team Prime, I thought "Hey, why not?"). **

**This takes place during a time of exploration, when Galvatron and his band of Predacons were just starting to get their legs under them, as it were.**

**(An explanation of the title of this one-shot: it's a song that Brave Kid and I thought reminded us of Razorback)**

* * *

Solid Bullet

"Maximal Command, I would like to state for the record that if we die out here, it was all Razorback's fault!"

The red Maximal laughed and flicked a pebble at the aquamarine helm. "Maximal Command, disregard previous statement: my partner has apparently forgotten that stupid plans are _his_ department." The two mechs ran side by side over the crumbling terrain of the asteroid, playfully shoving each other back and forth. The lessened gravity had increased Razorback's speed to the point where he could easily keep pace with his more agile partner, Finshot. The double crest on the erstwhile dolphin's helm rose indignantly. "I resent that remark! I'll have you know, sir, that I had everything under control that last expedition!" Razorback slid down a small rise, scattering debris as he went, and chuckled again. "Oh yes, because the part where the rock giant flung us _completely out of the atmosphere_ for desecrating the temple was _part of your plan _all along!"

He skidded to halt and peered down into a crater at his pedes. He let out a low whistle. "Look at that," he said admiringly. "Beauty, ain't she?" Hidden away in the side of the cliffs were the rusted remains of a door. "What do you think? Autobot-era base?" Finshot leaned over his shoulder, squinting. "I dunno, Razor. Looks older to me. More like a temple than a base." The slight mech hoisted his supply pack higher on his shoulders and grinned. "One way to find out, right?" Razorback nodded and lowered himself down. Hanging on to the edge with one hand, he began punching the rocky wall of the crater, creating hand and pede-holds for himself and for his partner as they descended. "This would be _much _easier if you were a _flying _animal," he grunted as he dropped to the ground. Finshot smirked and landed next to him in a graceful crouch. "I'll remember that the next time you're stuck in zero-g! Let's see whether I swim out to help you then!" Pretending to be offended, he stalked away towards the door and rapped on it a few times, listening to the hollow boom of the echo. "Hm." he remarked, "Sound waves indicate a door at least three times the thickness of standard Maximal architecture, but not reinforced, like Autobot or Decepticon designs. We might actually be looking at an N.A.I.L. settlement, y'know." (**a/n: N.A.I.L.: Non-Aligned Indigenous Lifeform**)

Razorback shouldered his own pack and hastened to join the smaller mech at the heavy door. "Neutrals? You think? They stayed pretty far away from Cybertron during the War, Fin. I doubt they'd be on an asteroid this close." He tilted his helm to the side and considered the tri-fold, petaled appearance of the metal. "Well, let's try those old wartime universal overrides the museum gave us to see if there's anything still powering this slab." From his subspace, he took a fist-sized scanner and keyed a few commands into the orb. Small, flat panels emerged from its sides as it hovered beside the door, and a thin beam of light shot into the old control panel. After a few seconds of hissing and sparking, a dim red light flickered on in the small screen. "Well, it's got power," Finshot murmured, perusing the glyphs scrolling over the feed. "But...it looks like the codes aren't checking out. Mech, these are some _old _glyphs. Nobody says "bedight" anymore!" Taking a moment to record the ancient message in his processor, Finshot began running several historical-language-translation programs to aid in making the glyphs a little easier to understand.

"Aw scrap, it's gonna be one of _those_," he sighed after a moment. His partner raised an eyebrow. "Let me guess, we have to pass some sort of test to enter?" He leaned against the door as Finshot chuckled in disbelief. "Close. It's a riddle. A _riddle_, Razorback. You know I'm not fond of those, ever since the one set of ruins we found with that creepy little alien-thing." The warthog sidled over and elbowed his friend with a smirk. "You were ten times its size. Don't tell me that thing _scared _you, Fin!" Internal fans kicked on with a whirr as the dolphin grumbled under his breath about riddle contests and hungry ghouls. "Right, well, did you want to hear the riddle for this place or not?" he asked dryly. Razorback rolled his shoulders. "Fire away." Finshot took a deep breath and declaimed:

_Death-dealer by death-dealing slayed,_

_By Mortilus, immortal made—_

_By titans ferried throughout space._

_Those seeking entrance to this place_

_Speak the names of they who crusade—_

_False answer with destruction paid._

"Slayed isn't a word." Razorback corrected Finshot. The pale blue mech snorted. "Take that up with the ancients. Nice sort of chiastic structure though, don't you think?" Razorback stared his friend down. "Do I look like I care about poetry?" he asked flatly. Finshot snickered and agreed, "No, you certainly do not." The pair stood back, mulling over the question posed by ancient technology. "Made immortal by Mortilus...well, if you go by the _really _old legends, that could be any spark, since Mortilus was the personification of Death in the oral traditions of the First Generation," Finshot suggested. Razorback shook his helm. "Nah, couldn't be just any spark. "Titans", remember? And it said something about a crusade." The answer dawned on him and he grinned, thankful, for once, that he had paid attention to the historical lectures in the Old Iacon archives. "What kind of mech goes on a crusade, Fin?" he asked pointedly. Blue optics brightened even further as Finshot understood. "The Knights of Cybertron!" he gasped. Agonizingly slowly, the door panels parted and slid open, revealing a long, dark hallway.

"Well Fin, I think you were right," Razorback said in a hushed voice as he slipped into the shadows. "It's got to bea temple of some kind. Why else would they even mention the Knights of Cybertron?" He took a lamp from his subspace compartment and held it up. By hard and sometimes humorous experience, he and Finshot had learned to check very thoroughly for traps when entering old ruins. "Pressure sensors on the floor here, watch it!" he warned, gesturing to four panels with a slightly different texture than the rest of the floor. Finshot nodded and trailed his servos over tiny openings in the wall. They came back coated with a fine red powder. "Eeugh. Looks like those pads trigger a spray of Cosmic Rust out of these holes." He shuddered, shaking the residue off his hands. "Sure makes you feel sorry for whatever poor fool might've tried to trespass during the War, doesn't it?" He carefully skirted the pressure sensors to join Razorback, who grunted. "Yeah, they didn't have a vaccine for it back then, did they?" Remaining vigilant, the two mechs made their way to the heart of the temple. On their way they barely avoided three more pressure-traps, one set of spiked, collapsing walls, a giant furnace, and what had at one point been a pit of bubbling acid. Long centuries had rendered most of the traps inoperable and in varying states of disrepair, which was fortunate for the explorers.

The passing of several hours found Razorback forcing open a large, ornate door long enough for Finshot to slip inside. "Hey Razor?" his voice echoed back, slightly muffled as he searched for something to prop the door open. "Yeah, Fin?" the warthog grunted, "What's up?" The dolphin hesitated a moment before answering, a touch of trepidation in his tone. "You get the feeling we aren't alone out here?" The faint glimmer of his headlamp twinkled momentarily in the gloom of the darkened chamber before he moved out of the line of Razorback's sight. "You're jumping at shadows, Partner," the red mech replied with a snort, "Who'd be out in a ruin like this?" The answer echoed back, distant and slightly strained as Finshot found a large beam to hold the door up. "I don't know, Predacons, maybe." With a grunt of effort, the data scavenger forced the crossbeam under the thick door, allowing Razorback to let go and slide under. "Predacons, seriously? You're worried about those clowns?"

"You're not?"

Razorback's plating flared slightly in a display of teasing bravado. "Of course not! They're a mangy band of renegades—pirates! They're barely organized enough to take energon from a sparkling." He strode through the small audience chamber, arms swinging. If the Maximal Council didn't believe that the so-called "Predacons" were a major threat, neither did he. Finshot, on the other hand, had been growing increasingly more concerned over the scattered reports from the colony worlds of this "Galvatron" that supposedly led them. "Mech, I don't know. They're starting to get pretty serious with their raids. I've heard some terrible things from out near what's left of Aquatron!" The scanner in his hand began pulsing rapidly, an alternating beam of blue and red light flashing from its primary sensor to indicate one last door standing before them. "Oh scrap," they breathed in unison. It stood four times their combined height and six times their width. Made up of seven interlocking plates, it obviously wasn't going to move without energon, and there had been no energon on the tiny asteroid for many decades.

"Finshot, you know I hate damaging ruins, but I think we're gonna have to cut through this one," Razorback gulped. "Yeee-ep. I think you're right," Fin squinted up. "Good Primus in the Allspark, how big were the Cybertronians who built this place?!" Razorback shook his helm and took a small, concentrated mining charge from his subspace. A simple changing of the blast radius on the charge's counter and it was ready to go. Razorback fastened the grenade to the door and darted away from it, closely followed by Finshot. The pair leapt over a fallen pillar and crouched, waiting for the blast. "Seriously though, you're worried about Predacons?" Razorback asked after a second, arching an eyebrow. Finshot crossed his arms and leaned against the stone. "We're still talking about this?" His partner shrugged and made a face. "I'm still trying to wrap my processor around the idea of anyone actually being _afraid _of them. But I don't think we've got anything to worry about out here. Even if they _were_ enough of a threat to do any serious raiding—which they're _not_, by the way—they'd be going after weapons caches or energon depots. They're not going to come poking around some old archaeological ruin like this."

With a wide grin, he pulled a pair of X-12 Scrapmakers from his back. "And even if they did, between your Dorsal Rapier and Sturm'n'Drang here, they wouldn't stand a chance." They both ducked as the grenade detonated, sending shrapnel flying overhead. Finshot stood, brushing himself off. "You are literally the only mech I know who carries Civil War-era pistols around and actually uses them," he chuckled. "They belong in a museum!" "_You _belong in a museum!" Razorback joked, moving to inspect the damage. "Really though," he remarked as he wriggled through the hole, "Your Dorsal Rapier would be all we needed. It's one of the finest blades ever created!" His smaller companion nodded absently as he crawled through—with considerably less difficulty. "I suppose it is, after the Star Saber," he said. He missed the odd look that crossed Razorback's face, but there was an unmistakable note of condescending in his friend's tone. "The Star Saber, _right_. Now would this be the magic sword given to the Thirteen by _Primus_?" Finshot was mildly caught off guard by the words. "Both, actually. I forgot, you don't believe in Primus, do you?" It was true that they hadn't often discussed beliefs: it was on Razorback's list of forbidden conversation topics, along with politics and what exactly went into the drinks at Maccadams's. "I believe in things I can _see_, Fin," the warthog murmured, holding up his lamp. "Well I can't believe what I'm seeing right now," Finshot gasped as something shone in the darkness.

On a platform hovering above a bottomless pit knelt a statue of the most incredible workmanship either of them had ever seen. It was a likeness of a femme made up of titanium, crystalline shards forming the optics. Under a winged helm, cephalic wiring fell in a gentle cascade over elegant shoulder guards and layered armor. Finshot hopped from a promontory to the floating pedestal, windmilling his arms to keep his balance before kneeling beside it. "Razorback, it's a _Cor Nostrum_!" he whispered reverently. "I never thought I'd find one of these all the way out here! These were almost all destroyed during the Civil War!" He pursed his lips and gazed at the likeness of Solus Prime critically. "I daresay Megatron didn't have much use for art, barbarian that he was." From the other side of the gulf, Razorback whistled appreciatively. "She's gorgeous, Fin. What's that she's holding?"

The statue's faceplates were turned downwards with a tender expression, and a long slab lay across her forearms, balancing. "Scans show it's organic," Finshot answered, "Looks like cloth! I'm taking some pics for posterity." He knew that if the velvety-looking substance had been there as long as he thought it had, it was likely going to crumble to dust the moment he touched it. Curiosity overcame him, however, and he could not resist running a servo over it. In the instant before it dissolved to nothing, his sensors retained the impression of something softer than the sky. He knew in that moment that he would spend the remainder of his life trying to recapture the feeling. There was something beneath what had been the fabric, and as he gently blew the dust away, a sharp, glittering form took shape. "Hey Razor?" he called over his shoulder, "You might want to get a retrieval capsule out." From behind him, he heard the larger mech's disbelieving exclamation. "We're not taking the whole statue with us?! She'd never fit in one of the pods!"

Finshot turned around with an awed expression on his faceplates. "Not the _Cor Nostrum_, Razorback, _this_." He held up a spar of metal about three hand's lengths, covered in glyphs and channels. As Finshot hopped from the pedestal back to the promontory, Razorback got a good look at the odd shard. "_That_," he breathed, "Is part of a sword! Look at that, see those grooves? That's for letting the enemy's energon drain away so it doesn't run down the hilt and make your hands slippery. I don't know where the rest of this thing is, but if this is just the part that goes over the hilt, then all together it's probably as long as you are tall!" Carefully, Razorback took a cylindrical pod from his back and opened it. "Is it gonna fit?" Finshot wondered as they slid the shard into the tube. It was a bit of a squeeze at the end, but they managed to get the lid on. "Maximal Command, this is Razorback and Finshot, archaeological patrol B_CW2 reporting in," Razorback broadcasted over a wide comm range as the two confidently strode back towards the doors of the temple. "You are never going to believe what we found! I'm not completely sure what it is, but it's definitely important!"

Finshot elbowed his companion and grinned broadly as they stepped into the cold exterior of the asteroid. "The museum will be grateful for this, I'll wager. Maybe even enough to give us the rest of the cycle off, you think?" Razorback heartily seconded the hope as they climbed out of the crater and made their way back to their ship. "I don't know about you, but I'm going straight to Maccadam's after this!" Razorback yawned, stretching until his back struts popped. Finshot smiled softly. "I will too, but I intend to ask Scylla to go with me." With a raucous laugh, Razorback ruffled the dolphin's green-blue helm playfully. "Scylla? You don't stand a chance, mate! She's only got optics for Scuba, remember?" He walked ahead a few paces, chuckling at the thought. "Why don't you ask Sonar instead? She's a nice femme, right?" There was no reply. "Right? Fin?" Thinking his partner was sulking, Razorback turned to apologize.

Finshot lay facedown on the rocky soil, a smoking crater in the middle of his back.

He hadn't even heard the shot.

In a half-rational state of mind, Razorback desperately scanned the area for the shooter. His advanced tracking systems picked up the electromagnetic field imprint of a cloaking shield for 2.476 seconds, then it was gone. Pushing the matter from his processor, Razorback hurried to Finshot and knelt beside him. "Fin, Fin mate, can you hear me?" But Finshot had been dead the moment the blast struck him.

It wasn't supposed to be this way. In the stories, the holofilms, the plays, the good guys didn't die. And if they did, they went out in a blaze of glory, offering some last, spark-felt words to their friends. This, this was meaningless. Talking about off-duty plans one second, snuffed out forever the next. The aquamarine armor began to fade to a dreadful pallor. "No, no no _no! _Don't you go gunmetal on me, Fin," the Maximal begged, coolant tears streaming down his faceplates, "Don't you do it! Come on mate, come back! You've gotta come back!"

In desperation, he turned his helm to the stars. "Primus, please! Give his spark back! If you have to take a life, take mine and give him back his! _Please_!" The relic that Finshot had been carrying was gone, most likely taken by the sniper. Razorback couldn't bring himself to care at all. He gently lifted his partner's frame—too light, too cold—and pressed his fore-helm to Finshot's. "I swear, Fin," he whispered brokenly, "I swear on my spark, and on your spark, Pit, I swear on the _Allspark_, that I'm going to catch the coward responsible for this." He looked down at the scanning screen on his arm, still holding the signature of the cloaking shield. Such devices were mostly illegal, and therefore custom-made. No two cloaks had the same electromagnetic field, making them easier to track. Razorback carried Finshot's still form into their ship and laid him in the cargo bay, arms crossed over his ruined spark chamber. With a savage snarl, the warthog tore a piece of twisted metal from the dolphin's chestplates and crushed it into a rough sphere.

He stared grimly out over the asteroid's surface as he clutched the sphere in one hand. "I will find you, assassin," he hissed, "And once you're in my sights, there's no escape! Maybe it's a bit old-fashioned, but—" he held up the metal ball. "I've got a bullet here with your name on it. Finshot's revenge, we'll call it." Trembling with grief and with rage, Razorback turned away and initiated the ship's liftoff sequence. "You can't run forever, assassin," he growled, "No matter where you run, I will follow, and I will _personally _deliver the Pit itself to your door! This I swear to you, Finshot." He pulled his fearsome battle-mask down over his faceplates and locked it in place, inflamed golden optics staring accusingly at the stars.


	3. Chapter 3

**A little background to an incident mentioned in an earlier chapter of Beast Saga. Also, a slight experiment in a style of narration I don't normally use.**

**If you've ever heard the song "A Good Run of Bad Luck" from the movie "Maverick", you've got a pretty good idea of the feel of this chapter.**

* * *

Know When to Walk Away, Know When to Run

Somebody said once that there's a sucker born every minute. I'm not certain what a "minute" is, mind you, but I feel that the phrase is apt enough. In all my considerable experience, I've yet to meet a single mech or femme that I could not outwit. What can I say? Guile is a gift, and one I have in great supply. I pride myself, you know, on my own inability to be fooled. It's one of the reasons I enjoy places like _The Skaro Mile_: they know me well enough not to pull any fast ones...and they've learned to keep quiet if one of my more brutish companions happens to make off with the silverware.

Speaking of brutes...

I look across the room, low ceilinged and lit with soft red and turquoise neon lines. There are only a handful of my own species here, but we mingle well with the collected Quarks, Tharks, Sycorax and Verdolsnatches. Off in the corner, like some two-credit reenactment of _The Pz-azz Raptor, _my associates lurk. Honestly! They're working so very hard at being inconspicuous that they stand out like a sore servo. Blackout is sleeping, or perhaps feigning sleep. The Divebomb's pedes are propped up on the table- he really does have atrocious manners. Doom-lock is awake, as usual. It is my personal theory that he can't go one breem without doing something menacing. At the moment, the Cruellock half of the Shattered Blade Brothers is merely cleaning his energon longsword.

They're beginning to draw stares, and my only consolation is that they are both ugly enough to make my plumage all the more optic-catching. I jauntily toss back the remainder of my Barsoom Blitzkrieg- an expensive drink: the fruit they use in it only ripens once every twenty planetary revolutions, and it is traditionally served in a goblet made from the fossilized skull of a Quintesson. Quite a delicacy if you can afford it. Still, I haven't time to sit and linger over the fascinating tastes of organic fruit if my contact's information is correct. Helm held high, I saunter to the corner table and unceremoniously fling Blackout's feet from the surface. "Come along, my lazy louts," I say cheerfully. They don't complain: I don't pay them to talk. "We've got a job!" Ignoring stares, I march out with them at my heels.

-

* * *

So dis is it. Dis is how my lights go out: boredom. Sheer boredom. I can see the headlines now: YOUNG SOLDIER FOUND OFFLINE IN ENERGON DEPOT: BIG CONVOY RETIRES IN SHAME. Or maybe, "RATTRAP WAS THE BEST OF US," MAXIMAL COUNCIL SAYS; HUNDREDS OF FEMMES GRIEF-STRICKEN! Yeah, yeah I like dat one. I let out a cavernous yawn and lean back in my chair. I have literally become desperate enough to read those interspecies romance datapads meant for young femmes. Primus knows how they got to a place like dis, but I'm almost bored enough to read 'em.

In my "office", a desk and chair surrounded by flimsy dividers in the center of the warehouse, I take to my organic beast mode and spin the seat rapidly. I groan aloud. "Something, anything, _please_ happen!" Out of the space behind the eastern divider, a lightly accented voice answers me. "I say, that sounds like my cue, doesn't it?" I whirl around. Dere's a shadow on the screen behind me: Saurian, but feathered. Dat's something right there: y'don't see a lot of archaeopteryx around. "Hey, what gives?" I growl, switching back to robot mode and drawing my gun. Can't be too careful now, right? "State your name and business!"

The screen is pushed to the side as dat archaeopteryx sort of leans his long neck in. He's something to look at alright, with the red and gold feathers and the black bars down the wings. The blue and green scales up dat neck of his make him look a little like a parrot though. Wonder if he wants a cracker? Then he transforms into a skinny mech with goggles covering his optics. I don't like dat: makes it hard to see what a mech's thinking. Then he starts talking again in dat fancy accent of his. "Of course! Pardon my manners. I am Archadis. You might've heard of me?" The name kinda rings a bell, but I ain't telling him dat. I'm bored and ornery right now, and I don't feel like playing nice.

"Nah, can't say I have," I yawn, crossing my arms. "Don't get a lot of news out here in Dullsville, y'know." He shrugs, like a Maximal solo-guarding a cache of energon ain't such a big deal. "Completely understandable, my friend. Myself, I'm just a wanderer, drifting here and there throughout the stars. I just happened to land here, hoping for a little civilized conversation. Eh, I'll take what I can get, I suppose." Dat sounds an awful lot like an insult. I don't think I like dis guy! "Okay, stranger," I say, standing up. Scrap, he's taller than me! Why does everybody gotta be taller than me?! "Why don't we get down ta business and you say what you really want?"

-

* * *

Hm. Well it seems the Maximal guard isn't gullible, though it may be a stretch to call him intelligent. If I'd known he was _this_ sort of character, I'd have let the Shattered Blade Brothers deal with it. Still, I've already ordered them to empty the depot, so I may as well stick it out and distract this fellow. Now, how to do it? No story of mine is bound to impress him, and he doesn't seem to need anything. Ah, wait. I've got it!

Shall we play a game?

I take a deck of holocards from my subspace and idly shuffle them as if I'm just looking for something to do with my servos. Ah! _There_ we go, _there's_ the glint in the optics! You play cards, don't you, my friend?

I smile ingratiatingly and hold out the deck. "It's been quite some time since I've run across anyone who knew how to play. Perhaps you would honor me with a friendly game?" Hook baited, line set, he may protest at first but I've already got him. He fidgets a moment, then grumbles, "Praxus Hold 'Em or no game." Perfect! This couldn't have gone better if I'd planned it! I slide into the chair opposite his desk and say coyly, "Refresh my memory: don't you have to have something to bet with to play that game?" You do, of course. One player puts in the little blind, one puts in the big blind, put down two hole cards and let the betting begin.

-

* * *

He's after something. There ain't no way he just wants ta play a game. I'll betcha we'll end up playing a few hands, then he'll feel bold enough ta spill the beans. I sit down and scowl at him. "_I_ got energon chips if _you_ got 'em." Dat ruffled his feathers: here it comes. "Here's the thing, old fellow. I haven't _actually_ got any chips on me. I'd bet the energon in my ship, but I'm down to 43%. Tell you what, why don't we start out with me 28 chips in debt, and I'll see if I can't gamble my way out of the hole. Sound interesting?" It's a no-processor decision. Maybe I ain't the greatest card-Sharkticon, but I ain't half bad neither.

-

* * *

I thought that'd get his attention. I hand over the deck so that he can shuffle it. I have to pretend things are on the level, after all. Oh, so _that's_ how it's going to be. He shuffles with a finesse I'd have thought impossible for such ungainly servos. Clearly, this mech has more experience with the game than I'd assumed. But, live and learn, I say. We'll see if there's anything to this "Rattrap" besides fancy shuffling. If not, I win the game (as I always do) and use only my not-inconsiderable natural talents to do so. If he does have more skill than appearances suggest, well, there are other ways to win and I am not above taking the occasional shortcut to obtain something I want. A mech has got to eat, after all.

"One half chip in the pot, small blind," I say coolly as he deals my hand of cards. "One chip. Big blind," he growls, briefly glancing at his own cards. Now let us see what kind of player you are, my rodent friend. An aggressive, or a passive? I get my answer soon enough as you open the betting with an ambitious three chips. I just want to see how you play for now, of course, so I see your three chips with three imaginary slivers of energon of my own, further racking up my "debt". He sets down the first two cards: king of guilds and ten of moons. I glance down at my own cards, a nine of moons and a two of daggers. I've had worse hands, of course, but it remains to be seen whether or not it's a hand worth continuing.

-

* * *

A king of guilds and a ten of moons. Dat would be pretty helpful if it was a ten of guilds, but there it is. I peek at my cards real quick, but I'm mostly watching dis Archadis guy. I got a queen of guilds and a nine of guilds: dat's some pretty crazy luck for a mech like me, all things considered. Lets see just how deep into debt dis mech is willing to go! I throw another three chips into the pot, then set a quarter cube on the table, just waiting. Yep, there we go, I got your attention now! I draw the next card and lay it down. It's a two of knights, curse it. I bet the three chips again, because if I don't, he's gonna know I didn't get the card I wanted.

Last card of the hand, last chance. It's a queen of daggers. Well, at least dat gives me a pair of queens, king high. We bet one more time, then flip our cards. "Pair of twos, king high," he says with a little smirk. I wile the smirk right off his faceplate as I show my own hand and claim the winnings. I grin, cause I ain't bored now. "Play another hand?" I ask. He agrees.

-

* * *

Hard to believe we've really been sitting here for two hours. By now, Doom-lock and Blackout have likely cleared a good half of the depot. Thus far I've allowed the Maximal to win a good third of our games to build his confidence. He certainly does have a competitive streak in him! I'm not certain he could stop if he wanted to. Not that I'd stop him, of course. The betting has gotten rather grandiose as we've gone on, and he's begun to wager cubes from storage. I had hoped he would! This will be the last game, I decide. I discreetly take one card from beneath the feathers decorating my left shoulder guard. It is my joker, my wild card. It is programmed to read the patterns of the deck and conform itself to be whatever card is needed to win.

This can, of course, be risky when playing with more than two mechs because there is an increased chance of someone else drawing the same card my joker is imitating. When only two play, there is less of a chance of being caught. I begin to win game after game, and the rodent begins to look desperate. I think it's finally beginning to dawn on him that he's going to lose most of the energon he was ordered to guard. "Pair of threes, pair of jacks, ace high," I declare, and his faceplate crumples.

-

* * *

How did it come to dis? We've been at dis for two hours and I've managed to lose all my pay _and_ a good chunk of the depot! Big Convoy's gonna kill me. I don't know what dis guy's secret is, but he's got no visible tell! Wait, what the- dat card flickered! Dis rat smells a rat. I narrow my optics at the feathered con-mech and glare. He's too busy subspacing all my energon from the table to notice. "Funny thing about wild cards," I say, suddenly switching off the deck's main control node, "Dey go back to default when the other cards are turned off!" As I thought: the flickering card fades into a joker pattern. The nerve of dis guy! The sheer, scrapping nerve! "Cheat!" I roar, jumping up from my chair. I'm about to go over the desk and throttle the mech, but he moves way too fast.

-

* * *

Well, it seems as if the jig is up. Before the Maximal can attack, I transform to beast-mode and flap my wings sharply, creating an air current that knocks him backwards a few feet. "Blackout! Doom-lock! Take what you've got and get the ship running!" I shout into my comm, "It's time to go!" Just in time, I dodge a laser blast that would have singed my cheek. "How _very_ rude of you!" I say indignantly, feigning outrage. "Don't be a poor sport! Pay your debts like a mech, why don't you?" He says some things that even a brigand such as myself would blush to repeat. I dart in, switching to robot mode in .067 seconds and kicking his legs out from under him. As he lays stunned on the floor, I can't help flipping a single energon chip in the air. It lands with a soft clink on Rattrap's chestplate. "Keep the change, old boy, it was a _fascinating_ tournament," I say in a haughty farewell. Then I step outside of the dividers and into my waiting ship. I wonder how long it'll take him to find the black feather I left on the desk? It is my personal calling-card, after all, and I'm rather proud of it. Ah well, we can't all of us be victors in this life.

-

* * *

Gone. All of it, gone.

I don't know how he did it, but dat sneaky Scraplet managed to get not just the cubes he won (by cheating, I might add), but everything else in the depot as well! The west divider fell down as the Con and his pals took off: the warehouse is completely empty. The only bright side of dis is dat I was outnumbered and can stick to saying "One distracted me while the other two robbed the cache" on my report. I glare down at the chip in my servos. I'm half tempted to chuck it out into deep space, but on second thought, I tighten my grip and subspace it. I'll keep the stupid thing as a reminder of what happens when I let my guard down. So help me though, if I never see a deck of cards again, it'll be too soon.


	4. Chapter 4

**So, in "Beast Saga", generally I focus on what happens on the Maximal side of the portal, making only slight reference to what goes on in the world of the Autobots and Decepticons unless main characters have crossed the barriers of the rift and are actually in that universe. As a bit of a change from that, I thought I might give a small glimpse into what happened after Optimus and his team returned from the Maximal universe. **

* * *

On any other occasion, he would have known that it was a trap.

Optimus had noted the unusual spike of energon activity in the canyon—the very fact that it was the canyon where he had confronted the avatar of Unicron ought to have sent off alarms in his processor—and quietly volunteered to investigate, alone. No one argued with him. It was fairly obvious that he was trying to privately deal with the discouragement of having failed to find the children yet again, but that he did not wish to burden anyone with his thoughts. Since finding the children's messages to the Autobots, he had barely spoken three words. Rafael had spoken so bravely, promising that he would find them one way or another. It seemed that his time with the Maximals truly had benefited him. Miko had been curiously subdued as she assured her guardian of her loyalty and affection, and Optimus had seen a fear behind her eyes that felt like a blade in his spark. She was afraid, and she was trying not to show it. Worn, scarred servos ached to hold the child close, to promise her that all would be well. He wondered if perhaps he should have foreseen this long ago, when he made the decision to bring the trio to the base for the first time.

And then there was Jack, expressing a vulnerability he never dared to show anyone else. The boy had a long way to go, but Optimus could not help but feel that he would be an excellent leader in his own right, one day. In his own message, in the other world, the Prime had counseled him not to doubt himself, had told him that he was a leader. Remembering those words only made the rest of the message more painful to hear. _"Are leaders supposed to be this afraid?" _the recording had asked, _"Because I am terrified right now. I'm afraid I'll lose you guys, or else lose the Maximals, and I don't know if I could handle either one." _The crushing sense that he had _failed _had once again overcome the regal mech, and Optimus had seized the chance to investigate the power spike without much thought. He almost hoped that it would be a false alarm, giving him an excuse to sit and meditate and calm his spark once more.

When he'd stepped through the portal and found a single crystal of energon sitting on the canyon floor, the Prime knew he'd made a terrible mistake. Optimus had 2.76 seconds to brace himself as something akin to a silver hurricane slammed into him at high speed. He skidded backwards several feet, keeping his arms up as a guard as Megatron rained down blows upon him. "Where _were _you, Optimus?" the Decepticon snarled, "What have you done?"

He swung too quickly and the Prime dodged, using the larger mech's momentum against him and landing a solid punch to his faceplate. "I could ask the same of _you_, Megatron," he replied stoically, drawing the Star Saber. The gladiator seemed enraged by the answer. "You were _dead _for four days!" he shouted, "Your spark _literally _did not exist in this world!" From his own back, Megatron took a blade equal in size and strength to the Star Saber, but as twisted in shape as the nature of the energon from which it had been formed. At any other time, Megatron would have proudly introduced the Dark Star Saber and boasted of its powers. Now, with a frustrated roar, her simply charged forward. The mighty blades clashed again and again, but the older warrior had more experience in swordplay and soon knocked the Star Saber from his brother's servos. Razor sharp talons seized Optimus by the throat, slamming him against the canyon wall. "Disappear like that again," the tyrant hissed, "and I will kill you."

"You _always _intended to kill me," Optimus remarked dryly. The grip around his neck cables constricted, beginning to hamper energon flow and bending tiny surface sensors out of shape. "Do you think this is a _game_?" Megatron snapped, throttling the smaller mech, "Of _course _I mean to kill you. In _combat_! An _honorable _death!" He leaned closer, agitation clear in his optics, and punctuated each word by shaking Optimus hard enough to disorient him. "But if you _ever _pull a stunt like that again, I swear I will _murder _you!" He let go abruptly, allowing the Prime to drop to the ground in a slightly undignified heap. Megatron sheathed the Dark Star Saber and turned to go. Suddenly, he stopped and turned halfway towards the Autobot leader. For a moment, Optimus thought he was about to make good on his threat and murder him right there in the canyon. Instead, so quickly that he nearly missed it, the warlord gruffly muttered, "_Et quando nata es in memoria._" Then, without another word, he transformed and rocketed away, leaving a battered and confused Prime in his wake.

Optimus stood slowly, massaging his throat, and blinked. He mulled over the words—part of a greeting not heard since the days before the War, back on Cybertron. Even his own people had foregone the traditional phrase in favor of the simpler translation the humans used. But why had Megatron used it? Voice coming out a little raspier than intended, Optimus wondered aloud, "Was it _today_?" How odd that, of all mechs, _Megatron _would remember the precise day when Orion Pax's spark had first emerged from the Well! But then, perhaps there was still a part of his brother left in the old warlord. "I think," he mused to the canyon walls, "that I have probably had worse "birthdays" as the humans call them. But this is certainly one of the stranger ones." Shaking his helm, Optimus stifled a smile and called for a Ground Bridge.


End file.
